


the sky will fall (we will rise)

by Raehimura



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Baze is Injured, Canon-Typical Violence, Chirrut Does Not React Well, Day 3, Day 4, Hurt/Comfort, It Scares The Children, M/M, Post-Canon, Role Reversal, SpiritAssassin Week, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raehimura/pseuds/Raehimura
Summary: The Force was angry, and Chirrut was an instrument of its fury. He would lose himself to it, become it, use it to get Baze to safety or kill them all for daring to harm him.(For Day 3 and 4 of Spiritassassin Week, hurt/comfort and role reversal.)





	the sky will fall (we will rise)

Scarif was not Rogue One’s last mission together.

It had been a long, slow recovery after a narrow escape. But once they had recovered (on the Rebellion’s credits) and been offered the freedom to walk away, they all just … stayed.

The Resistance leadership was, of course, ecstatic. Rogue One had gone from a desperate gaggle of what amounted to treasonous pirates to overnight heroes. While there was much mourning over those lost and much work to secure the future, there was also celebration of their miraculous victory. The story had already taken on a mythic quality among the rebels by the time the team was released from medical, and Resistance leaders were slavering to set the surviving members up as Heroes of the Resistance and shining examples of hope. (When Jyn had scoffed, Chirrut was quick to point out that wars were won with many weapons. Baze had mumbled something about propaganda that made Cassian snort.)

But it quickly became clear that the team was far better suited to the battlefield than to fame. Cassian had yet to fully resign himself to the fact that he could no longer work as a spy, and the attention made him generally miserable. Bodhi was similarly miserable, and he still feared someone would point out that he had worked for the Empire, that he didn’t belong here (and some had tried). Jyn was hard in unexpected places and had a tendency to lash out when she felt the slightest bit cornered, which under the clutches of Resistance PR, was always. Baze and Chirrut didn’t care about the attention or the pressure or anything really, but people found them terrifying and obtuse in turns, and their minders could do nothing to coax the appropriate heroic sentiments out of either of them.

All in all, everyone was grateful when Rogue One was given the official clearance to return to field work, taking missions that required a lot of independence and a little unerring luck. Which is how the six of them found themselves on Pravis, an out of the way planet with a tiny Empire base nestled in its obscurity. The Resistance had received intelligence that certain vital Empire processes were being routed through this tiny base in secret, and Cassian had been sure that with just a few minutes at a terminal, he and K2 could wreak major havoc. Jyn had been sure they could get in and out safely. Chirrut and Bodhi had been sure they would need backup. Baze still wasn’t sure of anything except that he went where Chirrut went.

The first half of the mission went off without a hitch. The five of them infiltrated the base while K2 kept the shuttle ready for a quick escape if necessary. They reached the terminal with nothing but a few quiet casualties, Cassian had plenty of time to do whatever he had planned, and they got out of there without tripping any alarms. Which was when the plan inevitably fell apart.

They must have had bad intel about the guard shift rotations, because they rounded the corner straight into a group of Empire soldiers (the base was so out of the way it didn’t even merit proper Stormtroopers). The resulting firefight attracted attention, and soon enough what seemed like half the base had descended on them.

Still, the numbers weren’t impossible and the close quarters gave them the advantage. In the months since Scarif, they had congealed as a team, and they could share a plan with nothing more than determined looks. On Jyn’s signal, they worked their way through waves of barely trained soldiers, clearing a path back to the ship.

They were clearing a juncture where two hallways meet, a choke point for their enemies but an easy place for them to keep coming in waves, when Chirrut heard the crackle of a blaster hitting home. (It was bad luck, Baze would later explain. No matter how good you are, sometimes you just end up taking a hit. Chirrut will not find this answer satisfying.)

From across the space, he felt Baze crumple.

The thing is, Baze did not get hurt. Sure, he had his fair share of close scraps and nasty little injuries. It was part of the life they led. But nothing that stopped him for long, nothing he wouldn’t power through and then stoically ignore until he was alone with Chirrut and a medkit. It was Chirrut that ran headlong into danger. In their lives, it had almost always been Chirrut taking a hit and Baze pulling him from danger with a long-suffering attitude to hide the depths of his worry. (Until those long weeks after Scarif, both of them growing new skin and setting old bones, both weak in ways they could never before have imagined.)

Chirrut’s thoughts flew apart, the bright spot in his awareness that was his counterbalance, his Baze, had faded out to a shadow, and he was thrown from the calm center of himself. He called out, once, _Baze!_ and was not sure if it was with his mind or with his mouth.

And then he drew a breath, deep and shuddering, and pulled himself back inward. It was different, in this moment, everything faster and sharper and hot with rage. Even the Force moved through him darkly. The Force was angry, and he was an instrument of its fury. He would lose himself to it, become it, use it to get Baze to safety or kill them all for daring to harm him.

A soldier approached from the left. Chirrut pivoted without a thought, driving the flat of his hand up into the man’s nose and feeling the cartilage shatter, driving up into the soft matter behind it. He ducked blaster fire as an afterthought, stepping forward and driving his staff into a soldier’s chest hard enough to send him crashing down in a wet cough of blood. 

Four more went down in quick succession, with the crunch of bone and the dull wet spatter of blood. It was not effortless. He was brutal but inefficient, no strength or motion conserved. Every strike bore the full force of his rage. He was the spinning heart of a dying star, burning out. He did not smile, could not find the joy of connection and purpose in the Force that usually guided him, but he could feel himself snarl in satisfaction at every life ended. Every destroyed obstacle between him and Baze.

He fought until the enemy’s numbers dwindled, until the last soldier fell from his hands with a broken neck.

Another hand landed on his shoulder, and he barely pulled his swing before his staff smashed into Cassian’s face. He could not see the surprise in Cassian’s eyes or the shuttered worry in Jyn’s as she warily held Bodhi back a few steps away, and what he could feel of them didn’t concern him. There was talking, some panicked and some carefully calm, but he did not hear it.

His breathing was heavy, wild, as he moved around Cassian to the black spot in his mind where Baze had fallen. He dropped to his knees, hands groping, Force sense blurring unreliably around them, and startled violently at the first touch of a heavy, calloused hand. The warm weight cupped his cheek, and he collapsed against it in relief. Awareness slowly trickled back in to the sound of Baze calling his name, gentle but urgent.

“Chirrut, Chirrut, it’s alright. Be here with me.”

Chirrut smiled weakly, voice rough. “Baze.”

“There you are, beloved.” Baze’s thumb stroked softly across his cheekbone, smearing blood and sweat in its wake. “You’re a mess.”

Chirrut sobbed out a laugh. “Me? What about you?”

“Hit, but nothing vital,” Baze grunted, as Chirrut’s hands slowed in their messy attempts to feel his injuries. He pressed his forehead gently to Chirrut’s. “I will be fine.”

Baze turned his head, reminding Chirrut of the rest of their team clustered a few steps away.

“I think you scared the children,” Baze rumbled, a smile in his voice.

Ignoring Cassian and Jyn’s immediate sputtering protests at being called children, Chirrut leaned in, grinning wildly.

“Well, in that case, it won’t hurt to traumatize them a little further,” he teased, pulling his husband into a fierce kiss.

It was Cassian who eventually had to interrupt, with a terse, “We need to move.”

With a little negotiation, they got Baze up and moving, arm draped across Chirrut’s shoulders for support. Cassian took point, and Jyn trailed behind to keep an eye out for stragglers. Bodhi walked with the two of them, a step behind and suspiciously quiet. Chirrut sighed.

“I am sorry you had to see that, young Bodhi. Did you find it disturbing?”

“What?” Bodhi asked in surprise. “Er, I mean, it was a little terrifying. But it was also … really impressive.”

Baze snorted, and Chirrut ‘accidentally’ jostled him.

“Besides,” Bodhi continued, embarrassment clear in his tone. “Baze was hurt.”

Chirrut couldn’t help the warm smile at the conviction in Bodhi’s voice, hand squeezing Baze’s hip in overwhelming affection and relief. Then, his smile turned mischievous.

“Yes, he does so like to worry me,” he said in an airy tone.

“Bah, me?” Baze’s voice was all mock outrage. “You’re the one attracted to danger like a night-fly to the fire. Now you know how it feels.”

“Oh, whatever would you do without me to look after you?” Chirrut continued, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Get in a lot less trouble,” Baze answers with a snort.

Chirrut’s reply was interrupted by K2’s mechanical quip, “We’re here, you can stop that now.”

They had reached the ship, and the others clambered on board to get ready for a quick departure. Chirrut moved to follow, but Baze pulled him back, turning just enough so he could press their foreheads together and grip Chirrut’s shoulder with his free hand. 

“Chirrut, are you alright?”

It was tempting to make another joke, slip back into their teasing. But Baze knew what it was to not recognize yourself, and his concern was genuine. He deserved a genuine answer.

“I will be,” Chirrut said finally. “I have rarely in this life felt fear like that. Losing control of oneself is not often a sound strategy, but there are times when it is warranted.”

Baze let out a breath against his cheek and tugged him in closer. “You are still yourself. And I am not going anywhere.”

Chirrut smiled against his cheek. “I know.”


End file.
